4
At ilka farm town
He’ll fire them three roun,’
Till the hale kintra ring wi’ the Kebbukston Weddin’
Jamie and Johnnie maun ride the brouse,
For few like them can sit i’ the saddle,
An’ Willy Cobreath, ⟨the⟩ best o’ bows,
Is trysted to jig i’ the barn wi’ his fiddle;
Wi’ whiskin, an’ fliskin’,
An’ reelin’ an’ wheelin’,
The young anes a’ like to loup out o’ the body
An’ Neilie M'Nairn,
Though sair forfairn,
He vows that he’ll wallop twa sets wi’ the howdie.
Sauney M‘Nab, wi’ his tartan trews,
Has hecht to come down in the midst o’ the caper,
An’ gie us three wallops o' merry-shantrews
Wi’ the true highland-fling o’ Maccrimmon the piper;
Sic hippin’ an’ skippin’,
An’ springin’ an’ flingin’,
I's wad that there’s nane i’ the lallands can waff it!
Foth Willy maun fiddle and jirgum an’ diddle,
An' screed till the sweat fa’ in beads frae his haffet.
